


there's always tomorrow

by mismatched (miscalculated)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, diet talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscalculated/pseuds/mismatched
Summary: And Jihoon considers himself a rational person. Hence his reasons for not sneaking out of the dorms at night to fuck. He knows the rest of his bandmates think the same of him — so if they knew. If they knew what Jihoon knows — his arms around Mingyu’s neck, tongue in Mingyu’s mouth, Mingyu’s fingers falling dangerously close to his fattening dick — they’d be so disappointed. So upset. Disgusted, too, maybe.-Jihoon and his bandmates spend a rare, two-day vacation in the mountains. Something about the mountain air, the break from reality, the sadness in Mingyu’s eyes makes him lose all rationale.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 16
Kudos: 175





	there's always tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up: there are many references to diets/crash diets in this fic. If that is triggering for you, please be cautious. 
> 
> Hi. This is a sleepy drabble i've been working on because I love the jigyu pairing. hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did cranking it out. Thanks so much for reading!

From Jihoon’s periphery, he can see that Mingyu is almost asleep, but not quite, his head bobbing towards the window, back towards Jihoon, and then back again. They’re one hour into their hour and a half drive to the airbnb, and Jihoon is crowded between Mingyu and Seokmin in the backseat, with Seungcheol in the driver’s seat, Soonyoung in the passenger. Soonyoung has his window down, belting out the lyrics of the song that’s on, and Seungcheol is nodding his head along, intermittently giggling whenever Soonyoung starts thrashing about; Seokmin supplies the background vocals and high notes as needed. 

Jihoon knows that Mingyu is exhausted. Exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. He’s been preparing for an upcoming solo photoshoot for Vogue Korea, working out for two hours a day, eating boiled eggs and a sweet potato once a day, tightening his water intake in hopes of deepening the striations that separate his abdominal muscles. And he almost didn’t come on the trip with his bandmates, complaining that there would be too many temptations up in the mountains, surrounded by booze, chips, ramen, and whatever else they decided to bring along. 

“Does the villa have a gym?” Mingyu had asked, when the band gathered in the common room of the upstairs dormitories to discuss the logistics. He was sitting on the floor, legs folded, his dyed brown hair flopping into his eyes. 

“Yes,” Seungkwan had insisted, shoving Mingyu’s shoulder as he said it. “C’mon, hyung, you can’t stay here all alone. That’s sad and we won’t let you do it.” 

“We’ll help you stay on track with your diet,” Seokmin told him from the couch, crammed onto it with Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Hansol. “Don’t worry. It’s just two days, three nights.” 

Jihoon could see the gears turning in Mingyu’s mind while he sat there considering it, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed. It was going to be a short turnover for him; he had to be back and immediately ready to go to the shoot once the band returns from the mountain villa trip. That, and Jihoon knew (knows) that this photoshoot was (is) incredibly important to him — more than a break from the constant slew of interviews, promotions, talk shows, filming. Vogue Korea wants him, _him_ , Kim Mingyu from the idol group Seventeen, to pose in the front pages of their magazine and tell them about his rise from trainee days to now. Something like this doesn’t come around very often, especially to K-pop idols, many of which aren’t nearly as tall or handsome as Mingyu. 

This can make or break him. Jihoon wouldn’t have blamed him for skipping out. 

But, “Fine,” Mingyu relented, gaze coming back into focus from wherever it went. “Don’t let me eat anything but what I bring, please.” 

Seungkwan had cheered, tossing his arms around Mingyu’s broad shoulders and pulling him in. Mingyu went pliantly, but didn’t hug back. “We will, we will, don’t worry about it.” 

For once, Jihoon was back in their shared room at a reasonable time that night; despite going in and out of sleep, he could hear Mingyu returning from the building’s gym at three a.m., dragging himself into the bathroom to wash off the sweat. And while Mingyu is often focused, Jihoon couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him this dedicated. Actually — the last time was when he snagged a spot on a talk show, the only Seventeen member to do so, and he knew he had to represent them well. And then there was the other photoshoot he had for Dazed Korea. 

So. Jihoon knows Mingyu is exhausted, tired, hungry; he’s more subdued when he gets this way. Jihoon reaches a hand up to rub his fingers into the back of Mingyu’s neck, working around to both shoulders. This gets Mingyu to stir, his eyes cracking open, leaning his body into the touch. “Hyung,” he mumbles, voice deeper with sleep, and Jihoon moves his hand to Mingyu’s upper back, massages across his shoulder blades, then back up to his neck. He can feel Mingyu’s muscles relaxing beneath his fingers, the stress knots coming loose. 

“Only twenty minutes left,” Seungcheol shouts over the music. “Can’t wait to stretch my legs out.” 

Soonyoung reaches out to the car dashboard and turns the volume down. “I’m gonna make a sprint for the single bedroom as soon as we park,” he tells them, looking back so he can see each of their faces. “Jeonghan hyung said he was going to beat me to it, so now I’m, like, obligated to.” 

“It’s all yours,” Seokmin says. “I just want one by the windows. Not asking for much.” 

“Wait, wait,” Seungcheol says. “It’s not all his. What if I want the single bedroom? How are you and Jeonghan making plans with yourselves?” 

Soonyoung flops back into his seat, grinning. “May the best man win,” he says, puts his hands behind his head as if relaxing. 

The road becomes steep, and twenty minutes later they’re pulling into the parking lot of the villa. There’s already a car parked in one of the spots, its trunk open, Minghao pulling luggage from it. “Damn it,” Soonyoung shrieks, his hand on the door handle so he can spring out as soon as Seungcheol comes to a stop. “Was Jeonghan in that car? Anyone know?” No one answers; they’re barely given a chance before Seungcheol slows and Soonyoung hops out of the car, gunning it up the stairs and into the villa. 

“Don’t risk getting hurt for a room, dumb ass,” Seungcheol shouts after him, but it’s too late — Soonyoung vanishes. “This kid.” 

Seungcheol parks a spot away from the other car, and he and Seokmin hop out of the car. Jihoon turns his head to look at Mingyu, who is blinking the sleep from his eyes and squinting out the window. “We’re here?” he asks. 

Jihoon gives Mingyu’s neck one last massage before he removes his hand, slides across to where Seokmin was sitting to push the door open. “Yeah. C’mon.” He gets out, hesitates until Mingyu’s large form pops up from the other side of the car. 

Seungcheol is opening the trunk of their car and pulling out the belongings, Seokmin helping him. Jihoon and Mingyu stand and wait for their turn behind them. Mingyu is running his fingers through his hair a few times, lets it fall back into its middle part, overgrown fringe framing his face. It’s easy to see that he’s still out of it, eyes still squinted, lips a straight line. But his hard work has been paying off; his jaw is more defined than ever, arms sculpted and chest broad in his black tee shirt. And his dark wash jeans cling to his legs, following the dips and curves of the muscles in his legs. His more slender, toned form makes him appear taller than usual. 

Jihoon reaches out, pats his lower back a couple of times. “Earth to Mingyu. Earth to Mingyu. Do you copy?” 

Mingyu, still running his hands through his hair, blinks down at Jihoon. Then a sleepy smile spreads across his lips. “Captain Jihoonie — I’m landing. Over,” he makes the sound of a walkie-talkie buzzing, and they both fall into giggles. 

“Let’s make sure all the stuff is out of the car before we start fighting for rooms,” Seungcheol tells them, repeats the same thing but louder to the other car. Minghao, Jun, and Wonwoo give him a flicker of acknowledgement. 

The villa has two floors, picture windows all throughout. From their vantage point on the hill, they can see the gentle rolls of mountains stretched out around them. The group (minus Soonyoung) is depositing their belongings in the common room when the third car rolls up; seconds later, Jeonghan is sprinting into the house, scans each face quickly, blurts, “Where is Soonyoung?” 

“Taking your room, apparently,” Seokmin tells him, arms crossed. 

“Fuck!” Jeonghan takes the stairs two at a time. Not much longer after, they can hear the shouts of two of the men upstairs, and Soonyoung’s signature, victorious cackle. 

Hansol looks at the stairs. “Is it that serious? There are, like, ten rooms.” 

“And only one with a single bed,” Joshua says. “I heard them arguing over it before we even got in the cars.” 

“Having a room to themselves is that important? On a three night trip?” 

“I ‘dunno, I guess,” Joshua yawns. “Ask them.” 

“Anyway,” Seungkwan interjects, walking into the house with Chan at his heels. “How are we deciding rooms? First come first serve? Rock-paper-scissors? A fight to the death?” 

“I’m just gonna sleep in the bonus room upstairs,” Seungcheol says. “So I can watch the TV before bed. Plenty of space around me if anyone wants to join.”

Hansol shrugs. “I don’t care, I’ll take any room.” 

“Same,” Minghao says to his phone. 

“As long as I have a bed I’m good,” Wonwoo says, frail frame drowning in his long-sleeve tee shirt. “Location isn’t important.” 

Seokmin nods emphatically, his hair flopping along with him. “Perfect, perfect, ‘cause I want a room with a window. Since you all don’t care…” He picks up his single suitcase and starts for the stairs. 

Hansol and Joshua exchange looks before they pick up their own things and follow Seokmin. Minghao isn’t far behind them.

“No takers for the bonus room?” Seungcheol tries, surveying the faces of the remaining members. 

Chan raises a hand. “I’ll sleep with you.” 

Jun shakes his head no, then goes to claim a room of his own. Seungkwan, shrugging, follows Jun up. 

Seungcheol’s eyes fall on Mingyu and Jihoon, eyebrows raised in a question. “So?” 

Mingyu takes Jihoon’s wrist in his hand and raises it. “We can sleep with you, too, hyung.” He gives a glance to Jihoon, assessing whether this is okay or not. 

And Jihoon really prefers his own room, on a bed, without a TV playing as he sleeps — but Mingyu isn’t feeling well, and Mingyu clearly wants to share a room with him; Jihoon isn’t often swayed against his own desires, but he caves, nods and says, “Sure, why not.” 

* * *

Once the rooms are claimed and the boys settle in, they arrange all the food they brought in the kitchen and meet out in the common space to eat and drink. Hansol puts on some rap song that’s in English, and he, Joshua, and Seungkwan bob along to it. Soonyoung and Chan are sitting on the floor in front of one of the two couches, drinking their beer and showing each other something on their phones while intermittently giggling; Wonwoo, Jun, and Minghao are on the couch behind them, all quietly resting, scrolling through their own phones; Seokmin and Seungcheol are in the kitchen doing god know's what; and Jeonghan is upstairs sleeping — in the room he had to settle for when he lost to Soonyoung fair and square. 

Jihoon is on the second couch, tucked into a corner, phone hanging from his hand. He watches as Mingyu pads down the stairs in a white sleep shirt and grey sweatpants, skin wet from the shower he took. “I’m surprised you’re not sleeping like Jeonghan,” Jihoon tells him when Mingyu sits in the spot next to him. 

Mingyu, eyes on the open bag of chips on the coffee table, says, “Me too.” He shrugs, looks at Jihoon. “If I’m here, I might as well hang out.” 

Jihoon nods. 

The sun has fallen behind the horizon, and up in the mountains the stars come out. Mingyu, after a moment of staring into space, gets up and goes back up the stairs. After a couple of minutes he returns with his Canon camera; he goes into the kitchen, and then comes back with a bottle of water. “Hey,” he says when he walks back up to Jihoon. “I’m going outside.”

It’s not a question, but Jihoon understands the implication. “Okay,” he says, and he stands up and follows Mingyu out the front door. 

Without the sun, it’s a bit cooler, but still warm. Jihoon pulls off his black sweatshirt and deposits it by the front door on their way out, leaving himself with a black tee shirt, black sweatpants, and his sandals. The two walk around the perimeter of the villa until they’re on a court with basketball hoops. A maintenance shed stands on the other side. 

“Want me to take a picture of you?” Jihoon asks. 

“Yes, please.” 

Mingyu hands him the camera, and Jihoon stands and waits as Mingyu situates himself on the court, a clear shot of the stars and the mountains behind him. He shakes his head a few times, rustles his hair, fixes his shirt. “Casual Mingyu,” he says. “That’s the concept.” 

“Casual Mingyu,” Jihoon parrots. “Oooh.” He turns the camera on, messes with it for a bit before he can see through the lens. “Okay, pose Casual Mingyu.” 

Mingyu laughs at this, sharp canines coming out for only the second time that day. He puts his hands in the pockets of his sweats, turns his body at an angle, one foot out, and he raises his chin, narrows his eyes, and clenches his jaw. Jihoon waits for him to get into the pose, and then snaps a couple of pictures, some while standing up, some while crouching down and further away, making Mingyu look impossibly taller. 

They do a few more poses: Mingyu crouching down with his arms hanging off of his knees, head tilted; looking off to the side, profile of his face on display; coming towards the camera, pretending to want to grab it, his outstretched arm blurry but his grinning face perfectly focused. Then Mingyu comes to stand behind Jihoon and look at each picture as Jihoon scrolls through. 

“Huh,” Mingyu says. Jihoon isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad sign. “Are any worth posting, do you think?” He looks at Jihoon. 

“I like the arm-out one,” Jihoon tries. “And the one where you’re showing the side of your face. Your jaw looks good there.” 

Mingyu doesn’t answer. He reaches out and scrolls through the photos once more before Jihoon relinquishes the camera. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll keep those in mind.” He picks his water bottle back up and takes a sip from it, closes it up again. 

“I’ll never get it,” Jihoon says. “How you have to deprive yourself of _water_ to take a couple of pictures.” 

“I’m shirtless in a few,” Mingyu answers, matter of fact, as if that explains away starvation. “It’s just for a few more days.” 

They walk aimlessly across the court, Mingyu still going back and forth through the pictures. Jihoon watches him for a while until he says, voice slightly dropping in volume, “It’s different this time.” 

“What is?” Mingyu says to the camera. 

“You.”

Mingyu doesn’t bother to look up. “It’s Vogue,” he says, another matter of fact tone to it. “This is bigger than anything I’ve ever done before. It has to be right.” 

Jihoon knows Mingyu is a perfectionist — they all are, honestly. That’s how they’ve gotten to where they are today. But Mingyu is the only visual, the only one that’s regarded almost primarily for his appearance, and the perfectionism seems to take new heights where that is considered. Jihoon has seen it, of course; the days Mingyu would be upset because the company gives him a haircut that he hates, or when the stylist makes him wear an outfit that he knows won’t look or fit right on him. If he’s going to be the visual, he wants to do it right, and ‘right’ holds a different meaning to the company and Mingyu. 

“I get _that_ ,” Jihoon says. “But you looked fine before you started this crash diet. That’s what I’m not getting.” 

“‘Idol’ fine and ‘Vogue’ fine are not the same,” Mingyu tells him. “There’s nowhere to hide when I’m at a shoot; I have to take my clothes off.” 

Jihoon wants to keep pushing back, but he knows it’s a dead end. Mingyu isn’t going to let up. So, “don’t push yourself too hard,” he says instead. “You need to be healthy for the next comeback.” 

Mingyu makes an absent-minded noise, and finally stops looking at the camera roll. “Want some pictures, too, hyung? You look cool in all black. And your hair is back to black, too.” He raises the camera experimentally, eyeing Jihoon for the okay. 

“I look like a mess,” Jihoon says, pushing his straight fringe out from in his eyelashes. Regardless, Mingyu snaps a few of Jihoon’s back as he looks up at the stars, his hands in his sweat’s pockets. 

“Ooh,” Mingyu whistles. “Casual Jihoonie concept.” Jihoon returns to his side, and Mingyu lowers the camera enough for the both of them to see. 

Jihoon nods, shrugging one shoulder up. “Any is fine.” 

They go to sit on a bench close to one of the basketball hoops; Jihoon takes the camera out of Mingyu’s hands and goes through Mingyu’s pictures again. Mingyu uncaps the water bottle and takes another short sip, watching Jihoon. 

“Do you like them?” Jihoon asks. “How you look?” 

Mingyu puts the water bottle down by his foot. “Um,” he says. “They’re fine.” 

Jihoon looks at the profile of his chiseled face. “Mingyu.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Really. You’re different. This can’t all be about Vogue.” 

Mingyu trains his gaze off towards the forest behind the other basketball hoop. “I’m tired. And hungry enough to eat my own foot.” 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve gone on this crash diet,” Jihoon insists. “And you were still yourself.” 

“Okay. I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m stressed, and I’m horny.” Mingyu looks at him. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Jihoon falls into silence. It’s honestly not what he expected — ‘I don’t think I look good’ or ‘I regret coming here’ were high on his possibility list. But. Neither came. “Oh,” Jihoon says. Then to silence. He isn’t sure how to tackle this with tact. “We… — Okay.” 

Mingyu ducks his head between his shoulders, his hair fanning down and shielding his face. But Jihoon can still see pieces of him through the spaces between the strands. “Yeah. I haven’t been able to sneak out because of our crazy schedule and now I’m here. So.” 

He knows Mingyu as one of the few reckless enough to risk Dispatch catching him — him, Hansol, and Seokmin. He nearly got caught by their managers a handful of times, and Jihoon has had to scramble to stall for him when they’d come looking for him and he wasn’t back yet. And, yeah, their promotions for their recent album picked up, leaving them with little time to even breathe; which meant the free time Mingyu has had has been delegated to sleeping and working out. Then they were given a break in the form of a two-day villa up in the mountains, surrounded by nothing but mountains, farmland, and a sleepy town. Stuck with one another, as usual. 

“Your hand?” Jihoon tries. 

Mingyu tucks his hair behind one ear to shoot Jihoon a look. “What do you think I’ve been using for the past five years?” 

Jihoon leans on the back of the bench in defeat. “Right.” 

Silence falls between them, heavy and uncertain. Then the white noise of crickets chirping fill it, leaves occasionally rustling with a breeze. Jihoon reaches a hand out, gives Mingyu’s broad back a few pats before he slides his palm up the nape of his neck. He plays with the shorter hairs there for a few seconds, then begins to massage his fingers into the crook of his neck. Mingyu, head still ducked between his shoulders, leans into the touch, makes a soft sound of approval in his throat. 

They’re not out here for pictures. At least, not completely. Jihoon realizes, as he kneads his muscles loose, that what Mingyu wants is support. Comfort. And Jihoon has never been the best at that — not with his words, unless he’s composing music — but he knows how to show it in different ways. Like his touch, a gentle touch that tells Mingyu he’s lowered his defenses. Because while Mingyu understands that Jihoon prefers not to, Mingyu thrives on the warmth of somebody else’s skin. If he’s laughing, he’ll grab Jihoon’s hand; if he wants his attention, he’ll touch Jihoon’s lap or shoulder; if he’s sad or tired or happy, he’ll wrap his arms around Jihoon, put a head on his shoulder, a lap. So this is Jihoon’s silent message, one that says it’s okay now. Mingyu needs it. 

There are so many other members Mingyu is good friends with that he can turn to — but he turns to Jihoon. Maybe Mingyu, too, enjoys his silence. 

Jihoon creates a cycle, pressing his fingers into one side of Mingyu’s neck, then the other, and then across his back and up again. Mingyu lets out gentle breaths, almost a groan with no voice to it, and rolls his head the opposite to where Jihoon’s hand is. They don’t say anything for an extended amount of time, the only noises between the two of them coming from Mingyu. He closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating on the circles Jihoon makes, lips parted. 

“You’re so tight,” Jihoon says on a laugh, his voice sounding loud in his ears after becoming accustomed to their quiet. 

A faint smile touches Mingyu’s lips. “Told you I’m stressed.” 

“You need some sleep.” Jihoon watches his own hand as it cycles through. His skin contrasts against Mingyu’s tan neck. 

“Are you tired?” 

Jihoon knows what he’s really asking. “I can sleep,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

When they get back inside, Jihoon hands the camera back to Mingyu in exchange for the rest of his water, and he lingers in the common space as he drinks it. Mingyu heads up the stairs, long legs taking it two steps at a time. Everyone minus Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Minghao, and Seokmin are still there, sprawled across the couches and drinking beers. Hansol is animatedly explaining some kind of song that Jihoon has heard him play once or twice while Joshua scrolls through his phone; Chan, Soonyoung and Jun are listening. 

“Where did you two go?" Seungkwan asks Jihoon from the floor. He’s sitting next to Chan and Soonyoung. 

Jihoon takes a couple of gulps of the water. “Took pictures,” he says. “You know Mingyu.” 

“Must’ve been an entire photoshoot,” Seungkwan says, giving him a playful suspicious look before turning back to the conversation. 

There’s nothing constructive to say to that, so he says nothing. Jihoon sets the empty water bottle on the coffee table and steps over the three men to get to and up the stairs. The bonus room is dark, save for the flashing lights of the TV; there are stacked blankets on the floor like a nest, stretched out long enough to fit several people. Seungcheol is on the piece closest to the door, wrapped up in a heavy comforter, dead asleep. Mingyu is getting settled on the other end, closest to the wall. His sweatpants are off, leaving him with the tee shirt and some boxers. 

“Let me brush my teeth,” Jihoon says. He goes to the bathroom, returns ten minutes later in some sleep shorts to Mingyu lying on his back, arms folded on his belly, eyes closed. Jihoon slowly lays on the spot next to Mingyu, using the same blanket that’s over Mingyu’s waist to cover himself. 

“Should I turn off the TV?” Mingyu whispers. 

“Please.” 

Mingyu sits up to do as he’s told, then lies back down. The room goes pitch black. Jihoon turns onto his side, facing Seungcheol and the door, and closes his eyes. 

* * *

He doesn’t know what time in the night it is — he just knows that some amount of time has passed — but Jihoon wakes up to Mingyu pressing himself flush against his back, arm tossing over his waist. He can make out Chan’s listless body in front of him, and the way the door is ajar, letting in some of the hallway light. The move is too purposeful to be done in his sleep; Mingyu sleeps like a rock. 

“Mingyu?” he says, in the lightest whisper that he can manage. 

Mingyu hums an answer, the end rising like a question, sounding half-asleep. 

He’s not sure where to go from this. He lies very still, frozen in his confusion. “You… are you okay?” 

There’s a moment of silence before Mingyu, his voice right by his ear, says, “No.” 

Okay. Jihoon can’t sleep like this. He waits, weighing his options, then slowly turns his head back to look at Mingyu. Then their faces are mere centimeters apart, and Jihoon can feel Mingyu’s breath against his nose, lips. And Mingyu’s eyes are open, only a crack, looking at Jihoon as Jihoon looks at him. Another pause in the confusion, and Jihoon finally whispers, “You can’t sleep?” 

“Can we do this tonight?” Mingyu asks, so, so softly that Jihoon hardly catches it despite how close their mouths are to one another. It’s almost sensual, makes the hairs on Jihoon’s arms and nape stand to attention. “Please?” 

The issue is that he’s not going to be able to sleep. And yet, in a strange day of weakness, Jihoon says nothing, just turns his head back around and blinks into the dark. He’s not even sure why he’s allowing this; normally, whether his bandmates are sad or crying or whatever, he draws the line at cuddling in bed. There are a lot of things Jihoon has learned to tolerate over the years — prolonged hugs, nuzzles, being lifted, et al — but this is definitely not one of them. And, as if sensing Jihoon’s lowered defenses, Mingyu takes his chance. Maybe he knows him way too well now. 

Mingyu’s big. Much bigger than Jihoon. And it’s hot. Getting hotter by the second. He can feel Mingyu’s breath against his nape, Mingyu’s knees on the backs of his, Mingyu’s heavy arm pressing into his waist, right above his hip. And — “Sorry,” Mingyu whispers, a tingle shooting down Jihoon’s spine when it reaches his ear. “Feels like I’m going crazy.” Another tingle. He needs to stop talking immediately. 

“How?” Jihoon hears himself ask. 

Mingyu’s arm slides down Jihoon’s side, over his hip, and Mingyu holds Jihoon’s thigh, right above his knee, long fingers circling. It makes Jihoon’s heart jump into his throat, and he twitches in shock, only to freeze again when Chan shifts beside him. Breathing slowly speeding up, Jihoon brings a hand down and grabs the top of Mingyu’s, holding, not yet pulling. “Mingyu.” 

“I wanna feel your skin,” Mingyu whispers, the husk to his voice slipping in and out. 

And. Jihoon hates this, hates it, tries to fight against himself — but he can feel the heat pooling low in his abdomen, making his entire body tingle, his dick throbbing to attention in his shorts. And. Mingyu’s shifting his hips, his hand sliding halfway up his thigh, and Jihoon can feel Mingyu — _Mingyu’s_ — right above his ass, on the small of his back. It’s suddenly so much harder to breathe. 

It’s been a while for Jihoon, too. He doesn’t sneak out to get his dick wet like a few of his bandmates — he’s too afraid and responsible for that — but he’s kept himself at bay by jerking himself off, sometimes with porn (thank god for VPNs), sometimes without. He doesn’t crave the feeling of another person on his skin, between his legs, enough to be sexually frustrated, his right (and left) hand doing a good enough job for him. But he hasn’t jerked off in over two weeks now; like Mingyu, he’s been too busy and exhausted to think about being horny. If he’s not promoting with the band or practicing, he’s up in his studio late at night, going straight to sleep when he’s done. That must be why. Must be why his dick is coming to life at the feeling of Mingyu’s hot breath on his skin, his hand on his thigh, his hips flush against Jihoon’s back. 

After a few minutes of silence, Mingyu stills, his grip loosening and falling off. And Jihoon can feel Mingyu breathing steadily against him. 

He’s fallen asleep. 

Okay. If he moves Mingyu he’ll only wake him up again. 

Jihoon trains his eyes on the light slipping in under the door, willing himself to fall asleep, too. And it isn’t until he’s waking up in the morning that he realizes that he’s managed to do it. 

The light in the bonus room is on, the TV playing the morning news. In front of him, Chan is sitting up and tapping on his phone; Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen. And Mingyu is no longer against him. He shoots up, looks around only to find Mingyu turned the other direction, facing the wall, still knocked out. 

“Morning,” Chan says without looking up from his phone. 

* * *

Jihoon comes downstairs to Seungcheol and Jeonghan setting assorted plates of breakfast out on the coffee table. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Minghao are watching from the couches, waiting for their chance to get some. “You gotta help yourself,” Jeonghan says to Jihoon. 

“Okay.” 

Soon enough, all of Seventeen minus Mingyu are in the common room and kitchen, eating their breakfast wherever there’s a surface to put their plates and bowls on. Jihoon is settled between Soonyoung and Seungkwan on the couch, chopsticks in one hand, bowl of white rice in the other. A chatter of several different conversations surround him. 

“Is Mingyu up?” Seungkwan asks. “He doesn’t want anything to eat?” 

Jihoon feels his heart skip a beat to the sound of his name. “Nah, let him sleep,” he says. “He’s not going to eat, anyway.” 

Acknowledgement flashes across Seungkwan’s face and he nods. “Ah, right, his diet. Well, he should at least come eat an egg or something.” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s more tired than hungry,” Jihoon says. 

It’s not until breakfast is over and done with and the dishes are packed away that Mingyu ambles down the stairs, dressed in a baby blue button-down dress shirt — thin enough to keep him cool — and some tan trousers. His brown hair is brushed into a side part. The members have congregated in the common room to brainstorm their plans for the day. 

“There’s a basketball court out back,” Hansol is saying. “And I brought my ball. We can play a game or two?” 

“And for those that _don’t_ want to play basketball,” Seungkwan interjects. “I have a few board games we can play.”

“Board games,” Jeonghan says, raising his hand in support. 

Minghao gets up from his spot on one of the couches. “I’m going to go sit out in the yard and read. Anyone else is free to come with.” As he walks off, Wonwoo is the only one to get up and follow him. 

“Basketball,” Seungcheol says, raising his hand. 

Mingyu walks over, taking the spot Minghao was once in, across from Jihoon. He watches lazily as each man calls out what they’d prefer to do. They end up with Hansol, Seungcheol, Chan, Soonyoung, Jun, and Seokmin in favor of basketball, and Seungkwan and Jeonghan in favor of playing board games. 

“Mingyu?” Seungkwan turns to face him. “What about you? Wanna play a game or two?”

Mingyu sits and thinks for a moment, eyes squinting, then says, “I think I’m gonna play basketball.” Team Basketball cheers. 

Team Board Games snap their heads to Jihoon. “Um,” Jihoon says. “You guys already know what I prefer.” 

“Whatever,” Seungkwan sniffs, chin up indignantly. “Jeonghan and I will make it work.” 

They break into their groups, and out on the basketball court, they split into two teams: Hansol, Seungcheol, Jun, and Mingyu on one team; Jihoon, Chan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung on the other. “This is a pretty good split,” Hansol nods approvingly. “Good and bad players on each.” 

“Hey,” Mingyu says, pouting. “I know you’re talking about me.” 

“And me,” Jun gets in. 

Seokmin puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; I’m a great basketball player. We’re a team of aces.”

“No one even mentioned your name, but okay,” Seungcheol says, giggling as he turns and walks to his team’s half of the court. 

The game ends up pretty fierce, each man putting forth more effort as it crawls along. They set the rule that first team to 10 points win: half-court shot is 5 points, outside of the big circle is 2 points, every other shot is 1. 

Two games in, they’re all a sweating, panting mess; Mingyu has to go sit on the bench and lean forward to collect himself. Hansol’s team takes both wins. 

Jihoon goes with Seokmin to retrieve a couple of bottles of water, and they return and hand each to the other men. Mingyu takes his when Jihoon offers it, makes enough space for Jihoon to squeeze beside him. Out on the court, Sweaty Soonyoung and Sweaty Seungcheol are arguing over what constitutes as a 3-pointer, Soonyoung an obvious sore loser. The others watch, entertained by their enthusiasm. 

Jihoon watches Mingyu down half his bottle as he drinks from his own. “You okay?” he asks on a swallow. His eyes follow the lowering grip Mingyu has around his water bottle, the same grip that was on his leg last night. He swallows again. 

“Fine,” Mingyu gasps. He’s drenched, more so than the other men, his hair sticking to his forehead and neck. “Need a minute to catch my breath.” 

Jihoon wants to ask. Ask about it, see what Mingyu has to say for himself. The issue is, he has no idea _what_ to ask. What was that last night? How could Mingyu even answer that; they both know what that was last night. Mingyu, touch-starved, cuddled him and went to sleep. Why were you holding me like that? See: touch-starved. And Mingyu’s not acting out of the ordinary, just sitting there drinking his water and intermittently watching his bandmates mess around on the court, completely relaxed. Like nothing ever happened. 

Jihoon starts to wonder if it ever happened at all. When he woke up Mingyu wasn’t around him. But there’s no way he hallucinated that. Is he making this a bigger deal than it should be? Probably. 

“While I’m still sweaty,” Mingyu is saying. “I’m going to go to the gym. Wanna come?” 

Jihoon blinks at him. “After all of that you want to go to the gym? You look tired, Mingyu.” 

“That was cardio,” Mingyu says. “I need to lift some weights.” He goes to stand up. “You coming or not?” 

Jihoon looks between Mingyu and his bandmates, contemplating. Contemplating. Then: “Yeah.” He stands up and follows Mingyu off the court. 

  
  
  
  


Mingyu brings his camera with him. Now dressed in a sleeveless shirt, jogging shorts with leggings underneath, Mingyu goes to stand by the full-length mirrors. “Picture, hyung,” he says while looking at the camera’s screen, his free hand blindly waving Jihoon over. 

Jihoon does as he’s told, in a sleeveless shirt and joggers, and he stands next to Mingyu while he snaps the pictures. Mingyu smiles at the cameral roll, canines back out. “Ooh,” he sings. “We look so good.” Jihoon watches as he flicks through, then goes to start his workout. 

“I’ve already taken enough pictures to last me the rest of the month,” Jihoon says. 

Every once in awhile Jihoon will stop watching himself in the mirrors while he lifts the dumbbells in his hands, steals glances at Mingyu as he uses the cable machine, strong muscles in his back flexing as he pulls the weight up and down. 

He doesn’t know why this is nagging at him so badly, but he can’t let it go. 

An hour later, they’re walking out of the gym and heading back up to the villa. “You should drink some more water if you’re going to work out so much,” Jihoon is saying, wiping his forehead with a towel. 

Mingyu keeps his eyes trained ahead. “I’ll see how I feel after my shower.” 

Jihoon shoots a look up at him. “Mingyu. It’s okay to —“ 

“Hyung,” Mingyu whines, eyes closing and shoulders dropping in annoyance. “Don’t nag, okay? I won’t let myself go crazy. I’m going to go eat right now.” 

They get up to the parking lot, walking towards the front door. 

“Won’t let yourself go crazy?” Jihoon asks. Then, before he has a chance to think against it, says, “You already said you were going crazy last night.” 

Mingyu looks at him. His expression is unreadable, and it’s driving _Jihoon_ crazy now. They’re watching one another even as they approach closer and closer to the front door; Jihoon can hear his heart thrumming in his ears, loud, can feel himself breaking out in a fresh sheen of sweat. 

Then Mingyu reaches out and presses a large palm to Jihoon’s upper arm, squeezing. “Yeah,” he says, lowering his voice. “But that’s a different crazy. I told you why.” 

He knows why. 

They falter at the front steps to the villa. “What am I supposed to do about that?” Jihoon asks, heart thrumming impossibly loud. 

“Nothing,” Mingyu says. “It’s just nice to feel your skin.” 

Jihoon doesn’t answer immediately. A beat later, he deadpans, “My skin.” 

Mingyu has the audacity to look a little shy. The shyness he surely didn’t show last night. “I like it.” His voice lowers again, almost to a whisper. “You know why I was usually late sneaking back into the dorms?” 

Jihoon waits, unmoving. 

“Because it’s nice to feel their bare skin against mine,” Mingyu finishes. “I’d waste time lying around with them.” 

It’s not something Jihoon’s ever felt inclined to do. He and Mingyu are built differently, down to the very foundation. Huh. So that’s it. It’s not a sexual thing — not really? Kinda? Semantics? — but something Mingyu likes to do to feel at peace. Maybe Jihoon should’ve known this, considering Mingyu can’t _not_ touch his bandmates for very long when they’re around. 

“You are,” Jihoon starts. “So weird.” 

They walk into the villa and into the common room, finds Seungkwan and Jeonghan on the couches on their phones. Seungkwan looks up at them as they approach. “Mingyuzi,” he sing-songs. “I thought you guys were playing basketball?” 

“They’re still playing?” Jihoon asks. 

Seungkwan smirks at them like he knows something they don’t. “What are you two up to lately? Always wandering off by yourselves.” 

“The roommates can’t get enough of each other,” Jeonghan says to his phone. “Not sure why, since they already live together.” 

“We were at the gym,” Mingyu tells them. “You two should come sometime. It’s good for you.” He crosses the common room and walks up the stairs, two steps at a time. 

“A little passive-aggressive,” Seungkwan mutters. “But okay.” 

* * *

Or maybe it’s _not_ not a sex thing. 

In the evening they eat ramen and drink, except now they’re out on the yard, sitting in lawn chairs, music playing from wireless speakers. The night is cool, cooler than the previous one, and some of the men have their sweatshirts or a blanket draped over them. Chan is already drunk and dancing wildly to the music, a tipsy Seokmin right beside him. Seungkwan and Wonwoo are busy cheering them on, occasionally taking sips of their beer. 

Jihoon is standing behind the row of lawn chairs, wearing his black sweatshirt from the night before, eating his ramen. Mingyu moves from talking to Hansol to stand beside him, steamed sweet potato in hand. “Not drinking?” he asks. 

“Don’t really feel like it,” Jihoon says around a mouthful of ramen, absent-mindedly watching Chan and Seokmin waltzing to a pop song. 

Mingyu nods, takes a bite of his sweet potato. “Gotcha.” 

Soonyoung and Seokmin recruit the members to play a game of beer pong, and once enough give their support, Soonyoung, Seungcheol, and Chan carry a plastic table from the back of the villa and set it down in the yard. “One game,” Soonyoung is soon begging Jihoon, tugging at his sleeve. “Just one, and I’ll leave you alone. Promise!” 

Jihoon shakes him off to get another bite of ramen into his mouth. “One game.” 

Soonyoung brightens, eyes widening with hope. His grip is back on Jihoon’s sleeve. “One game! One game!” 

And that’s how Jihoon gets peer pressured into playing a round of beer pong. Mingyu sits on a free lawn chair next to a reading Minghao, watches as the game progresses, the men getting more and more rowdy with each cup. 

By the time a round is finished and Jihoon has approximately 1 can of beer in his system, his team taking the victory, Jihoon goes over to sit next to Mingyu. 

“Fun?” Mingyu asks. 

“It’s fun winning, yeah,” Jihoon says. He picks up an abandoned bottle of water and drinks it, pulls one leg up into the chair. A sudden chorus of shouts — some happy, some in distress — makes Minghao startle. 

Mingyu laughs, leans forward with his arms hanging off his spread legs. “You have always been so competitive. I guess that’s what keeps Seventeen alive.” He reaches a hand out to hold the knee of the leg Jihoon has up in the chair. He doesn’t have to go far, the arms of their lawn chairs pressed close together. 

Even as Mingyu seems to be coming back to himself, something still feels off. Maybe the way his stare lingers, or the firmer grasp he puts on Jihoon — and maybe Jihoon is acting a little different, too. Allowing it, watching as Mingyu watches him. And maybe they’re just horny, collectively, and the night Mingyu pressed his body to Jihoon’s irreversibly crossed a line that they’ve never crossed before. Now the only path to go is forward. Jihoon feels himself walking forward. 

Jihoon reaches a hand out, massages his fingers into the crook of Mingyu’s neck. Mingyu’s grasp on his knee returns to his own lap, and he turns to look when their bandmates start to shout again. 

Half an hour later, Jihoon gets up and goes to get ready for bed. “Where are you headed?” Mingyu asks him as he leaves. 

“Bathroom. Need to brush my teeth.” 

And it is of no surprise to him that Mingyu ends up following him into the bonus room’s bathroom in under five minutes after his departure. It’s small, with only a sink and a toilet; Mingyu stands behind him, reaches over Jihoon to get his own toothbrush. Jihoon, his toothbrush already in his mouth, picks up the toothpaste and puts it on the bristles of Mingyu’s. “Thanks,” Mingyu says. 

As they brush, watching their reflections in the mirror, Mingyu wraps an elbow around Jihoon’s neck, sways them side to side. Jihoon holds Mingyu’s arm with his free hand, feels the way Mingyu’s muscles flex at his touch. Jihoon shoots him a look in the mirror, and they end up trying not to blast the toothpaste in their mouths as they die laughing. 

“Conceited fuck,” Jihoon says when he finally washes his mouth out, puts his toothbrush back where it sat in the holder. Mingyu’s response is an awkward smile, mouth full of water as he swishes it around. 

They turn the lights out in the bonus room but leave the TV on for Seungcheol’s sake. 

“Is it okay?” Mingyu’s asking as they get situated on their half of the blanket-nest. He’s stripped down to another tee shirt and boxer shorts. 

Jihoon knows what he’s asking, doesn’t stop himself when he pretends like he doesn’t. “Is what okay?” he says to their shared blanket, tossing Mingyu’s part over to him as he spreads his section out over his legs. 

At first, there’s no response, Mingyu silently spreading his own section over his bottom half. Then, Mingyu scoots over until their legs are pressed together, both men sitting up in the makeshift bed. “If we’re close, I mean?” his tone is reluctant, uncertain, but a palm comes up to touch right above Jihoon’s blanket-covered knee. Jihoon’s heart is back in his throat. 

Jihoon looks at the hand, how it covers so much ground without any effort. And for a reason unbeknownst to him, he recalls the phases the band has gone through — not the concept changes or their continued rise in popularity, but the fluctuating dynamics within the group. At one point, Jihoon considered himself closer to Soonyoung, more lenient with him when he’d drape himself over him. More open to vocalizing his issues. Another time, for a stretch of one or two years, Jihoon gravitated closer to Jeonghan. And Jeonghan is different than Soonyoung in several ways; he’s not as enthusiastic or boisterous, not as willing to play into the fans’ desires or pleas. He, much like Jihoon, doesn’t care to advertise an exaggerated, public-friendly persona, something that they bonded over. 

Throughout the past five years, he’s been close to Mingyu, yeah, but not much more than anybody else, like Seokmin or Hansol. And Jihoon can’t pinpoint exactly when that started to change. It was before they became roommates, he knows that much. That’s where his memory ends. Then, piece by piece, month by month, he and Mingyu found themselves often sliding over to one another, showing each other something, saying something they thought was funny, holding onto one another as they laughed at whatever their bandmates were up to. Becoming roommates was only a catalyst to a deeper bond. 

Jihoon started to see things in Mingyu that he hadn’t noticed when they were in separate rooms — didn’t know that was even possible, considering they’d been stuck with each other for so long up until that point. Mingyu has separate struggles than the rest of Seventeen, hardships that are specific to his place in the band. Like the company enforcing the rule that he can’t speak as much as the rest of his bandmates when on talk shows. Or that he has to pay particular attention to his facial expressions when out in public, has to make sure that he doesn’t ever step out of the building without looking somewhat presentable. That he can’t ever let his weight go up more than 2kg from their set standard, a rule that the company is more lax on with the others (Jihoon knows for a fact his own weight has fluctuated as much as 10kg since their conception). All of which are contingent on the solo photoshoots and brand deals that they allow him to partake in. 

Because he has an image to uphold as their visual. Seventeen’s face. A role he’s taken so seriously, to the point of worry. Jihoon can’t help but sympathize, his boundaries crumbling more and more every time he sees the tired pull to Mingyu’s face, the glint in his eyes that disappear during these moments, when he has to look his best. Dopey, exuberant Mingyu would be outside, dancing with Soonyoung, playing beer pong, shouting the loudest over the chorus of voices. 

Jihoon leans his head on Mingyu’s shoulder, fingers returning to the muscles of Mingyu’s back. True to their routine, Mingyu leans into his touch, cheek pressing on the top of Jihoon’s head. “When you’re back from your shoot,” Jihoon says. “Let’s celebrate with some barbecue.” 

“That sounds so good right now,” Mingyu sighs. 

Jihoon works his way up to the back of Mingyu’s neck. It feels a tad more intimate now, with the two of them in the dark, alone, sitting in their shared ‘bed’. 

“I know I should be here relaxing,” Mingyu says, now in a whisper — as best a whisper he can muster with his deep voice. “But it’s like… I can’t. I know it’s dumb, maybe, and probably silly. But, like. I always worry that they’re not gonna like real life me. ‘Cause all they’ve seen are edited pictures and videos of me.” 

It’s the most honest Mingyu’s been since they arrived. Jihoon stares absently at the TV screen. Its volume is low, a talk show playing. “They had to have seen your polaroids before booking you. Those aren’t edited.” 

“And what if I don’t look like my polaroids anymore?” 

Jihoon stops massaging, his hand resting between Mingyu’s scapulae. “You look like your polaroids, Mingyu. Exactly the same.” No response. “You always doubt yourself like this before a shoot, but it always ends up great anyway. They’ll love you, the fans will love it — it’ll be fine.” 

Mingyu lets Jihoon’s words hang in the air for a few seconds of tense silence before he says, still a whisper, “I just wanna be good at something.” 

“You are —“

“ _Feel_ good at something.” 

That Jihoon doesn’t have an answer for. At least, not one convincing enough to sway Mingyu. So he tries the next best thing. “You’re good to me.” A pause. “To us. Dancing, rapping, modeling. That’s why you’re in the band. If you don’t believe me — fine. But your opinion doesn’t make it not true.” 

Mingyu lifts his head off Jihoon’s to look at him. Jihoon dares himself to do the same. And. It’s undeniable that Mingyu is handsome; fluorescent lights splayed across the profile of his face, outlining his jaw, the brown highlights in his hair. Almond-shaped eyes, straight eyebrows, always looking like he’s posing for an invisible camera even when he isn’t. Jihoon thought he’d be over how handsome Mingyu is by now, being that he’s been with him nearly everyday for more than eight years. And yet, much like tonight, it’s as if he’s looking at Mingyu for the first time — except not as a boy, when they were trainees, but as a man. Twenty-four year old Kim Mingyu. 

It messes with Jihoon’s head. 

He doesn’t realize he’s watching Mingyu’s mouth until Mingyu is leaning in. The hand on his knee slides up, up, up to just under his sleep shorts, long fingers encircling, holding down firm enough that his fingernails blanch, muscle displacing. Then Jihoon’s eyelids are falling, gaze going more cross-eyed the closer Mingyu gets. _He’s going to kiss me_ , crosses Jihoon’s mind. _We’re about to kiss_. A thought that barely registers, not quite sinking in even as the possibility becomes probable. 

There’s a bang outside the room, in the hallway, and heavy footsteps. “You’re such an annoying drunk,” someone is saying while laughing, someone that is definitely Chan. In the milliseconds they have before the bonus room door flies open, Mingyu immediately ducks his head into the crook of Jihoon’s neck, awkward since he has to lean down more than comfortable. Jihoon freezes, holding his breath. Fuck. 

“ _You’re_ an annoying drunk,” Jeonghan says from the door frame, watches as Chan flicks the lights on. 

“Oh.” 

Both men falter at the sight of Mingyu and Jihoon sitting close together, Jihoon’s hand still on Mingyu’s back, Mingyu’s face hidden in Jihoon’s neck. Jihoon turns his head, watches them watch him with unreadable expressions. He hopes he doesn’t look as spooked as he feels. 

Chan, stopped dead in his tracks, stares for a beat longer before he says, “Hey. Is Mingyu okay?” 

Mingyu raises a thumbs up (the hand that was once under Jihoon’s shorts, making his entire body tingle), still not lifting his head. 

“He’s a little stressed,” Jihoon tries. “He’ll feel better when his diet is over.” 

Jeonghan, arms crossed, leans on the jamb of the door. His blonde hair falls to one side. “The roommates ran off on us again? I’m shocked.” 

Jihoon says nothing. Mingyu’s thumbs up falls back down into his own lap. 

Chan continues with his task, crouches down to take a grey hoodie out of his bag. “We were going to walk to town. There’s a bar that sells cheap booze. You guys wanna come?” 

“Um,” Jihoon starts. 

“They’re not gonna go,” Jeonghan finishes. “Mingyu’s been out of it for the past week and Jihoon’s been his faux-therapist. Let them be.” 

“He’ll be better when his diet is over,” Jihoon repeats, firmer than before. “Give him time.” 

“Just because he’s in a mood doesn’t mean you have to baby him,” Jeonghan insists. “Every time he’s in a mood — which is often, because he’s a diva, sorry, Mingyu — you don’t have to enable him. Let him deal with it. We’re _all_ stressed.” 

Chan pulls his hoodie on, zipping it up. “What he means,” he interjects, loudly, before Jihoon (or Mingyu) can respond to it. “Is he misses you, hyung. I think… Like, I think we can all be a little honest and say — um — Mingyu can be a _bit_ emotional. Kinda. And it’s great that you support him, hyung, really. But…” He stops to collect his words. 

Jihoon takes the lapse to speak. “That’s not even true.” He’s still looking at Jeonghan, annoyance — anger — making his chest tight. “I don’t enable _anybody_. You’re just saying that because since we’ve been here I’ve been hanging out with him.” 

Jeonghan doesn’t falter. “Well, yeah. We’re supposed to be here to relax with one another. If you’re always running off chasing him that isn’t fun for you _or_ us.” 

“It’s been one and a half days,” Jihoon retorts. “I played basketball with everyone.” 

“Mingyu was playing basketball, too.” 

“Okay!” Chan raises his hand. “Let’s not argue, okay? It’s a mood-killer. Jeonghan hyung, I have my hoodie; let’s go.” He starts towards the door. 

Jeonghan turns his body to let Chan out, eyes still on Jihoon. “You’re acting different. It’s weird.” His gaze falls to what he can see of Mingyu’s head, Jihoon’s hand on his back, then back into Jihoon’s eyes before he follows Chan. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu says into Jihoon’s neck, when they other two men are gone. 

“It’s okay. He’s drunk and dramatic.” 

But it’s undeniable. He is acting different. Something about the mountain air, the break from reality, the sadness in Mingyu’s eyes. Something about the lingering touch, lingering gaze. And it’s been building and building, especially since they began rooming with one another; now, it’s at its peak. The only way across the irreversible boundary is forward. 

“Let’s go to bed.” Jihoon waits for Mingyu to lift his head before he gets up, goes to turn the lights back off and shut the door. 

* * *

There’s also something about the dark. The way it feels like an alternate universe, like what they do is hidden and will remain that way even as morning arrives. The darkness keeps it trapped in the night. That’s what Jihoon’s thinking, mentally composing, when he turns his head around and Mingyu kisses him. 

They’re once again back-to-chest, and Mingyu’s got one hand cradling Jihoon’s jaw, under his chin. The kiss is slow, sleepy, a careful slide of lips and tongue. With the TV volume low and the villa quiet, the smack of their mouths sound louder in Jihoon’s ears than it really is. And Jihoon can feel that too-familiar pool of heat low in his abdomen, goosebumps standing every hair on his body to attention. 

It’s different. He is, too. But — at least in the dark — he doesn’t think different means it’s bad. 

* * *

The morning is a sleepy bustle of 13 pairs of feet. Early risers are already downstairs and eating the breakfast that Jeonghan and Seungcheol hastily put together — kimchi, white rice, steamed vegetables — while the slackers are still washing up upstairs. Mingyu remains in their ‘bed’, dozing off, when Jihoon, teeth freshly brushed and day clothes on, is walking into the kitchen, waits by the island as Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Jun dole out their own plates. 

Jihoon grabs the crook of Jeonghan’s elbow as Jeonghan tries to leave to the common room. “How was the bar?” he asks. 

Jeonghan, bowl of kimchi and rice stacked and teetering in one hand, fixes him an expressionless look. “Wouldn’t have to tell you if you came.” 

“You don’t have to act like that,” Jihoon tells him. 

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. He blinks slowly at Jihoon, lips a straight line. 

“I know you wanted to hang out. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not often we get vacations without cameras watching our every move,” Jeonghan says. 

“You guys convinced him to come,” Jihoon tries. He shifts his body closer to the island so Jun can squeeze past them. “What am I supposed to do? Let him mope around by himself?” 

Jeonghan moves with Jihoon when Jun passes him. “ _I_ didn’t convince him to do anything. That was Seungkwan and Seokmin. In my opinion, we should’ve let him prepare for his shoot at the dorms. Like he wanted to do.” 

“We’re all friends,” Jihoon says. “If he needs me I’m not going to ignore him.” 

“He doesn’t _need_ you, Jihoon,” Jeonghan deadpans. “He wants you. I don’t know what it is, but you’ve gone soft on him lately. That’s not you. Normal you would let Mingyu sort himself out, like he should. He isn’t the only one with a lot of responsibilities.” 

_He’s not like you_ , Jihoon wants to say but keeps in his throat. Jeonghan will just use that as more fodder to prove his point of Jihoon giving Mingyu preferential treatment. And, besides, Jeonghan isn’t completely wrong. Despite the fact the he and Jeonghan haven’t been as tight as they were a year ago, Jeonghan knows Jihoon too well. More so than a lot of his other bandmates; because Jeonghan can see a lot of Jihoon in himself, and vice versa. 

Jeonghan wouldn’t baby any of his members — once, Jihoon wouldn’t either. Jihoon wouldn’t have _kissed_ any of his members. 

“Okay,” Jihoon finally says. He averts his eyes, lets go of Jeonghan’s arm. “You’re right.” 

Jeonghan pauses. Then, “If it seems like I’m being an asshole, I’m sorry. I just don’t think it’s healthy for Mingyu to be babied when he’s struggling. We’re here for support, but not at the expense of our own fun.” 

Jihoon absently watches Soonyoung dole himself a heaping plate of rice. “You’re right.” 

Jeonghan, a man of short, cutting words, leaves it at that. 

As right as Jeonghan may be, Jihoon chooses to bask in his ignorance; especially when Mingyu is coming down the stairs in a low-neck t shirt, dark wash jeans with holes in the knees, and backless loafers. His hair is parted in the middle, slightly messy in a way that looks effortless on him. Jihoon watches him from his spot on the couch, blindly stuffing vegetables into his mouth with his chopsticks, as Mingyu makes several stops to talk to his bandmates on his way to the kitchen. 

“Are you gonna eat breakfast with us today?” Soonyoung asks from the floor. 

Mingyu smiles at him, a soft, sleepy one. He looks much more grounded than he was yesterday, last night. “My eggs, yeah. I hope none of you shits ate them.” 

“We don’t want your sad, pathetic eggs,” Seokmin shouts with a mouthful of food. He’s on the couch across from Jihoon, crammed between Hansol and Seungkwan. “So don’t you worry about that.” 

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but good-naturedly. “Whatever. I’ll be in the kitchen boiling my sad, pathetic eggs if you need me.” He steps over a seated Soonyoung, Chan, and Jun on his way to said kitchen. 

Immediately after Mingyu is out of sight, Jihoon can feel Seungkwan’s eyes on him. He knows he and Jeonghan must’ve spoken ad nauseam about what Jeonghan saw last night: Jihoon uncharacteristically allowing Mingyu to cuddle into him in bed, his hand on Mingyu’s broad back. He knows, and it makes him reluctant to do what he wants to do — what Seungkwan _expects_ him to do — but, fuck it; Jihoon gets a few more bites of the steamed vegetables into his mouth before he’s standing up from the couch, follows Mingyu into the kitchen. It’s his vacation, too, and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to do, Jeonghan’s (and Seungkwan’s) opinions be damned. 

Mingyu is boiling a pot of water on the stove, chatting amicably with Wonwoo, who is leaning on the counters nearby while eating. “Only one more day and I’m done,” Mingyu is saying. “Thank god, right?” 

“You’re no fun when you’re dieting,” Wonwoo agrees. “It was strange to see you sitting down and not playing beer pong with the rest.” 

“I’ve been out of it,” Mingyu says to the heating water. “I don’t feel like myself, either. I ‘dunno. Everything is, like, harder this time around.” 

Wonwoo nibbles at a piece of cabbage. “Everything?” 

“Dieting, working,” Mingyu says. “Even this vacation. I can’t make myself relax. It’s like… like my brain is telling me that there’s something I have to do, so I _can’t_ enjoy this.” 

Jihoon steps up next to Mingyu, watches quietly as Mingyu opens the carton of eggs. 

“I get that way sometimes,” Wonwoo tells him. “When there’s a lot to do, it’s harder to calm down, I think. And you have more on your plate than we do right now.” 

Mingyu gently places two eggs into the now-boiling water, covers the pot with its top but at an angle so the steam floats up from the open space. “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll be better after tomorrow.” He turns his head to acknowledge a watching Jihoon, puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jihoonie said we can celebrate with barbecue.” 

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows at them in faux-sadness. “I wanna come eat barbecue?” 

“Everyone can come,” Mingyu cheers, smiling with his teeth. 

Minghao perks up from behind them. “Did I hear barbecue?” 

Mingyu cranes his neck to look at him. “Barbecue tomorrow night. First round of drinks on me. Be there or be square.” Wonwoo and Minghao whoop, arms in the air. 

“I’m holding you to that,” Wonwoo says, grinning. 

They eventually return to finish their breakfast in the common room with everyone else. Jihoon and Mingyu linger at the door to the kitchen, close enough to be considered apart of the conversation. Once again, the members are trying to decide what they should do on their final day in the mountains. Mingyu listens to a few of the choices — basketball, volleyball, soccer, board games, a relaxing walk on the trail behind the house — before he glances down at Jihoon. 

“Hey,” he says, toes of his loafers gently nudging Jihoon’s ankle. Jihoon turns away from the conversation to look at him. “We good?” 

Jihoon’s visceral reaction is to wonder why Mingyu is asking him this, considering the fact that he’s been treating him no different than the previous day; he was just in the kitchen with him as he cooked his eggs. But after a few seconds of contemplation, he realizes what Mingyu’s asking. If _they’re_ okay. If Jihoon feels regret or awkward about their kiss. If Mingyu’s crossed one too many lines. 

“I’m good,” he whispers. “Are you?” 

“ _Please_ can we do board games?” Seungkwan is shouting over the noise of multiple people speaking at once. “I was a good sport yesterday, but if I don’t kick somebody’s ass in monopoly I’m going to be mad.” 

“Monopoly takes for-fucking-ever,” Soonyoung whines. “If we’re playing games can we do something like poker? Uno?” 

“If you are,” Mingyu tells Jihoon. His face is carefully relaxed, knows there are too many members in the vicinity that can see them. 

Jihoon shrugs. “We’re friends.” 

“Mingyuzi,” Seungkwan shouts. “What do you guys want to do? Uno or soccer? Speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

Both men turn back towards the couches. “Uno,” Mingyu tells him. “After the gym. Anyone wanna come with? It’s super fancy in there.” He wiggles his eyebrows, his come-hither. 

“Gym.” Seungcheol raises his hand. 

“Same,” Joshua says, but doesn’t raise his hand. “Gym.” 

“Wet blankets,” Seungkwan dramatically sucks his teeth at them. “It’s vacation, for fucks sake.” He looks at Jihoon, suspicious gaze saying that he already knows what Jihoon is gonna say. “Jihoon hyung?”

Jihoon, after taking a second to think, says, “Soccer.” 

* * *

Without the protection of clouds, the sun is beating down on them. Jihoon loses track of time, but it’s close to noon when they’re too exhausted to play anymore rounds. His team — Hansol and Soonyoung — ends up winning against their opposition Chan, Minghao, and Seokmin. The other members are inside the common room, having moved on from poker to monopoly.

Jihoon is catching his breath, hands on his hips, on the outskirts of the field when Seokmin comes up to stand next to him. He hands one of the two bottles in his hands to Jihoon, and Jihoon thanks him as he drinks it. 

“Good game,” Seokmin says before chugging his water. 

Jihoon brushes his wet bangs back from his forehead. “Yeah. Thank god Soonyoung was on the winning team or else he’d be out there arguing again.” 

Seokmin chuckles. “He _does_ take everything seriously. Which can be good when we’re performing...” 

They fall into silence, absently watching Chan try to keep the ball up in the air with his feet while the others wait for their turn at it. 

“So.” Seokmin rolls his now-empty water bottle between his palms. “Haven’t really talked to you since we got here. What’s up?” 

Jihoon understands the implication. In contrast to Seungkwan or Jeonghan, Seokmin is more round-about with his attempts to retrieve information; he’s more gentle by nature, not very confrontational. 

“Nothing much,” Jihoon says. “Just… trying to enjoy what’s left of our trip.”

Seokmin nods, slow. “And how’s that going?” 

Jihoon looks at Seokmin, who is continuing to watch the men play with the soccer ball. “If you’re asking about Mingyu, he’s fine. He needed time to decompress.” 

“I get it.” Seokmin meets Jihoon’s eyes. “I like to talk to Seungkwan when I’m not feeling well. Mingyu’s been worried about the shoot with Vogue?” 

Jihoon takes another sip of his water. “Yeah. You know how he gets. If one thing is stressing him out, he starts to stress about all kinds of shit.” 

Seokmin doesn’t probe for more; satisfied with Jihoon’s answer, he nods. “Okay, cool. I was worried about him. He pushes himself too hard sometimes.” 

Jihoon chuckles. “That’s ironic, coming from you.” 

“Alright,” Seokmin ducks his head and smiles. “Don’t turn this back on me, please.” 

  
  
  
  


Jihoon finds Mingyu in the bonus room when he goes up to get a fresh pair of clothes for his shower. “How was the gym?” he asks, pads over to his luggage and crouches down to fish through it. 

Mingyu is also looking for clothes to wear. “Fun. Seungcheol hyung brought his speakers and played one of 2PM’s old albums while we lifted.” 

“Nice.” 

The TV is playing the weather forecast. Below them, there’s the distant shouts of the men playing monopoly. Jihoon, finding the pair of joggers and graphic tee shirt he wants, gets to his feet. “I’m gonna shower in the bathroom down the hall; I think Soonyoung’s room has a bathroom if you want to use that one.” 

Mingyu stands, outfit in his hands, damp hair sticking to his face. A sheen of sweat highlights his cheekbones. “That works.” 

They walk down the hall together. “Minghao and Wonwoo want to go walk the trail,” Jihoon says. “I was thinking of going.” 

“I’ll have to shower again if I go,” Mingyu says, his way of turning down the question that wasn’t asked. “It’s hot out there today.” 

“That’s true,” Jihoon nods. “But I don’t mind. I wanted to see some of the mountains before we left. If you want pictures I can take your camera with me.” When they get to the hallway bathroom, Jihoon pushes the door open, falters to look up at Mingyu. 

Mingyu stops. “Sounds like a plan.” 

There’s a roar of laughter and distressed shouts from below. It sounds like Junhui and Chan are bickering about something, each increasing their volume to shut the other up. 

“Okay.” Jihoon steps over the threshold and into the bathroom. It’s much more spacious than the one in the bonus room, with a wide tub and counter long enough to carry two sinks. 

He puts his change of clothes down on the open space between the faucets, next to the scatter of skin care products that most definitely belong to Minghao, Jeonghan, and/or Seungkwan. When he doesn’t hear the sound of Mingyu’s footsteps walking away, he turns back to the door. 

Mingyu is leaning against the jamb, the top of his head nearly hitting the door frame. He looks so much bigger like this — taking up the entire doorway with his body. 

“Hey,” Jihoon hears himself say. 

Then Mingyu is stepping into the bathroom, swinging the door shut with his foot and depositing his clothes on top of Jihoon’s in one fell swoop. Jihoon backs up against the counter, arms coming up to Mingyu’s shoulders as Mingyu folds himself in half to lick into Jihoon’s mouth. A large palm holds Jihoon’s hip, a few fingers dipping under the waistband of Jihoon’s sweatpants, pressing into the skin there. A shiver rakes up Jihoon’s body. 

The kiss is nothing like last night — it’s rougher, more confident, with a hint of teeth, Mingyu crowding into his space until there’s nowhere for Jihoon to go. The counter behind him and Mingyu in front, crouching in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable for long, as Jihoon’s a full head and shoulders shorter than him. The thought makes Jihoon’s legs feel weak, that Mingyu looks like he’s swallowing him whole. 

Mingyu’s other hand holds the edge of the counter, and the fingers under Jihoon’s waistband slide down and across, onto Jihoon’s lower belly. Another shiver vibrates through him at the feeling of Mingyu’s warm palm mere centimeters from his dick; his skin prickles with goosebumps. And then Mingyu’s teeth catch onto his bottom lip, eliciting a breathy moan from Jihoon, his eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed. 

It’s tricky. Dangerous. There are too many other people in the villa, and at any moment they can come upstairs to take a piss and push open the bathroom door. And. He knows what the outcome will be; some disgusted, some shocked, some disappointed. He knows Seungcheol will be livid; he doesn’t have to take a guess at that. There’s nothing riskier than engaging in any relationship above platonic with a bandmate. The chance at a permanent disruption of the group’s dynamic is too high to even consider the thought. 

And Jihoon considers himself a rational person. Hence his reasons for not sneaking out of the dorms at night to fuck. He knows the rest of his bandmates think the same of him — so if they knew. If they knew what Jihoon knows — his arms around Mingyu’s neck, tongue in Mingyu’s mouth, Mingyu’s fingers falling dangerously close to his fattening dick — they’d be so disappointed. So upset. Disgusted, too, maybe. 

Yet. Jihoon feels the remains of his rationality dissipating. Really, he’s felt it crumbling over the recent year. The closer Mingyu drew to him, the lower his defenses became. Mingyu, 24-year old Kim Mingyu, with broader shoulders, a deeper voice, a toned body that appears leaner with the tan glow of his skin. _I don’t have any biological siblings_ , Jihoon had said at a more recent interview. _But I have 12 brothers now_ . _And I live for them_. 

How repulsive it would be for any of his ‘brothers’ to find him. 

Jihoon gasps, hips jutting forward, when Mingyu shoves his hand further under his sweatpants, under his briefs, and fists the base of his dick. It’s a dry tug, the friction rough against his sensitive skin, but it’s been so long since Jihoon’s had somebody else’s hand on him that his knees nearly buckle. He leans further onto the counter to keep himself upright, their kiss breaking when Mingyu doesn’t follow him down, back already folded too deep for comfort. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says shakily. 

Without Mingyu’s mouth to muffle his moans, his voice reverberates against the bathroom tiles. Mingyu’s grip practically engulfs the entire length of his dick, and each tug earns another jut of Jihoon’s hips, another moan, his entire body shaking. And before he has a chance to mute himself, Mingyu uses the hand on the counter ledge to cover Jihoon’s mouth, pressing down firmly. 

“They’re gonna hear you,” Mingyu’s saying, low and husky. Oh, _fuck_. 

Such a basic handjob feels way too fucking good. It’s almost embarrassing how Jihoon melts into the warmth of Mingyu’s touch, how his vision blurs with stars and tears. Mingyu’s other hand leaves enough room for him to breathe through his nose, but Jihoon still can’t get enough air into his lungs, his chest tight with arousal. And then he looks up, nearly comes right then and there; Mingyu’s face is a tinge of pink, highlighted in a fresh sheen of sweat, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils erasing the remnants of brown. He’s unabashedly watching Jihoon’s expression, lustful, in a way Jihoon’s never seen from him before. 

Another chorus of shouts erupt from downstairs, and somehow — the knowledge that no one knows where or what they’re doing, that Mingyu’s fisting his dick in quick, short tugs, the precum leaking from his cockhead allowing better slip, Mingyu’s gaze deep, unfaltering — pushes him over the edge; his orgasm tightens every muscle in his body, paralyzing him, and he comes in spurts over Mingyu’s fingers. 

When he quiets, Mingyu removes his palm from over his mouth. Jihoon slumps back, his breathing heavy and loud in the subsequent silence. Mingyu is panting a little himself, removes his hand from around Jihoon’s softening dick and looks at the mess covering it. “Wow,” Jihoon says on an exhale. It’s literally all he can say. _Wow_. That felt scarily good, has him already brainstorming when they’d ever have the chance to do this again. 

“Wow,” Mingyu agrees. A hint of a smile (albeit dazed) returns to his face. 

He’s wiping his hands off with a piece of paper towel, Jihoon busy making post-orgasm one-sided plans, when there’s the sound of multiple footsteps on the stairs. Someone that’s probably Chan is talking about how bullshit monopoly is. Both men jump, freeze, and then before Jihoon has a chance to figure out what he’s going to do, Mingyu grabs his clothes and guns it out of the bathroom and down the hall. The door is left open. 

“It’s basically a game of chance,” he can hear Chan saying, now made clear with no barrier between them. “A game of chance that lasts for fucking ever.” 

Jihoon grabs the door handle and pulls it closed. 

* * *

Freshly-washed Jihoon goes on the trail walk with Wonwoo and Minghao, Mingyu’s camera in hand. He’s barely listening to what they’re saying, still reeling. He didn’t get a chance to get Mingyu off. He’s seen Mingyu’s dick before — it’s kinda impossible not to after being with him for almost a decade — but he’s never seen him hard. He’s never seen what his hand looks like around Mingyu, how small it’d look in comparison. 

“ — That’s the beauty of simplicity,” Minghao is telling Wonwoo (and allegedly Jihoon). “When you find the joy in little things, like a walk through the mountains, life is easier to enjoy. We have so much shit going on all the time and we never get a chance to breathe in the outdoors.” He’s wearing a straw hat to shield him from the sun, clothes loose and light-colored. 

Wonwoo’s wearing a cap on his head that he borrowed from Jeonghan, his glasses perched precariously on his nose bridge. “Yeah,” he says. “it’s funny how I used to take going outside for granted. I’d go home and play video games all night as a kid.” 

“You don’t know what you have until it’s gone,” Minghao agrees. “I’ve been teaching myself to appreciate whatever I have, no matter how small. Idol life makes it easy to become disillusioned.”

They start up a steeper hill, the dirt trail narrowing. Jihoon lags behind as the two taller men walk side by side. A canopy of trees drapes over them, giving them a break from the sun. 

“And vice versa,” Wonwoo continues. “If Seventeen disbanded, I ‘dunno, _tomorrow_ , we’d miss all the luxuries we’ve had and never gave second thought to. I think I take being an idol for granted sometimes, too.” 

Minghao, eyebrows raising, impressed, says, “That’s true. I hadn’t been thinking about the other way around.” 

“Whatever happens to Seventeen,” Jihoon finally speaks up. The two men ahead of him crane their heads back. “I hope that we’ll have successful careers in whatever we choose to do. And that we don’t have to regret taking stuff for granted.” 

Minghao nods, eyes raising for a moment, before he turns his head back around. “One can only hope. But until then, let’s try to enjoy what we have.” 

* * *

Their final night in the villa is spent watching movies, eating chips, and drinking beer. They all gather in the common room with the lights out, the flat screen TV playing some film more than half of them have never seen before. Hansol, one of the members that’s seen it, insists that it’s good — so that’s enough to sway them. 

Jihoon is on the couch, sitting on the spot closest to the stairs and furthest from the TV, nursing his can of beer. Mingyu is sitting on the floor in front of him, Seokmin next to him, with a bottle of water and a steamed sweet potato. In the dark (and with no one paying them any mind), Jihoon can nudge his toes into the nape of Mingyu’s neck and muffle his laughs when Mingyu reaches back to grab his foot without an audience. 

And, yes, Jihoon can barely pay attention to the movie. He’s too busy looking between his phone screen and the back of Mingyu’s head, occasionally the profile of his face when Mingyu is nudging Seokmin to say something. At times Mingyu will whisper something and they’ll both snicker, the sharp canines in Mingyu’s mouth coming out. And Jihoon hates how hypnotized he’s become after a fucking hand job, but, once again, he doesn’t remember the last time someone else touched him. He wants to get it out of his system, out of Mingyu’s system. He didn’t get to help Mingyu. 

Half a can of beer later, Jihoon decides he needs to go piss and pace the halls or something to calm himself down. He’s being silly. 

So he does; maneuvering around Mingyu, he sets his can down on the crowded coffee table and pads towards the stairs. In the bathroom — the bonus room bathroom this time, since he knows he’ll turn himself on going into the hall one again — he takes a piss, washes his hands, and then his face. He watches his reflection as he dries himself off with a towel. His ink-black hair is a little messy, the fringe long enough to fall into his eyes. A haircut is on the itinerary when he gets back to the dorms, whether he likes it or not. A new comeback means a new hairstyle. 

Jihoon is reaching out to open the door when it’s opened from the other side. The bonus room is dark, but the light from the bathroom leaks out, illuminates the Mingyu that’s standing on the other side of the threshold. 

“Jeonghan already thinks we’re being weirdos,” Jihoon says to Mingyu’s chest. “If we’re the only two missing it’s just gonna make things worse.” 

“I know,” Mingyu says. “Seokmin came with me. He’s in the other bathroom.” He points vaguely out the bonus room door. 

Jihoon looks up to meet his eyes. Ignores the way his skin tingles as he does so. “Okay. Let’s wait for him and go back down together.” 

Mingyu doesn’t budge. Voice falling in volume, not quite a whisper but close, he asks, “Should we talk about it?” 

Jihoon’s heart skips a beat. Eye contact suddenly too heavy, he shifts his gaze to the white wall beside the door. “There’s nothing to talk about,” his volume matches Mingyu’s. “We’re friends.” 

His words hang heavy in the space between them. And, it’s true. Just because the terms of their friendship has changed, dramatically so, in the span of two days, it doesn’t erase the fact that they’re bandmates first, friends second, anything else last. There’s mutual attraction — has to be; the look Mingyu gave him earlier that day is unmistakable, and Jihoon is still rational enough to know that he feels the same — but that doesn’t have to mean that the inevitable destination is a romantic relationship. 

They’re no longer platonic. That’s very obvious. But, there’s plenty of space in between. 

“So,” Mingyu starts. Stops. One beat later, “This is fine?” 

Jihoon looks at him again. He shrugs, says, “We’re fine. We have to be.” 

They’re standing outside the door when Seokmin leaves the hallway bathroom. “Oh,” Seokmin says, looking between the two as he dries his hands with paper towel. “Hi.” 

* * *

The morning brings a chaos of bag-packing and breakfast-eating. Jihoon didn’t bring much with him, so his bag is one of the first packed and ready to go. Outside, Seungcheol is helping his bandmates situate their luggage in the trunk of each car. 

“Thanks,” Jihoon says when Seungcheol takes the bag from him and deposits it in the car. One parking spot down, Minghao and Wonwoo are putting their belongings up. Jeonghan is standing at the third car talking to Seungkwan as Seungkwan works to make the suitcases fit. 

“No problem. Help the rest clean up before we go, okay?” Seungcheol tells him. “And eat something, too, please.” 

Jihoon re-enters the villa, finds all the other members either cleaning or eating. He decides he wants to get breakfast first. 

In the kitchen, Mingyu and Joshua are washing the dishes. Hansol is standing at the island eating stir-fried corn and snap peas. 

“Hope you fucks saved some food for me,” Jihoon says, goes to check on whatever’s left in the pots. 

  
  
  
  
  


Seungcheol, Jihoon, Seokmin, and Mingyu — the original members of car one — leave before everyone else. Mingyu has to be back at the dorm to immediately ride with one of their managers to the Vogue Korea photoshoot, requiring the other three to go with him since there isn't enough space in the remaining cars. 

“Sorry, hyungs,” Mingyu is telling them as they buckle up and back out of the parking spot. 

Seokmin waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. We’re only leaving, like, one hour before the rest. I’m just glad you came.” 

“And those losers still have to clean the rooms and bathrooms,” Soonyoung says from the passenger seat, cackling victoriously. “Sucks to suck.” He starts fiddling with the dashboard, trying to connect his phone wirelessly. 

“In a few hours,” Seungcheol is saying, eyes on the road as they drive back down the hill. “Your diet is officially over. How does it feel, Model Kim Mingyu?” 

Mingyu lets out a dramatic sigh, shoulder knocking into Jihoon’s. “So good, hyung,” he says. “So good. We’re getting barbecue for dinner and you’re all invited.” 

Soonyoung and Seokmin cheer. “In celebration of barbecue,” Soonyoung says to his phone, seconds before he taps on a song and it blasts through the speakers. “Car karaoke!” He rolls his window down, belting the lyrics out into the wind. Seokmin is quick to join him. 

Jihoon, getting comfortable, shifts his body towards Mingyu and rests his head on him. Mingyu presses a palm right above his knee, resting. It’s nothing unusual for them to do, so the rest don’t pay them any mind. Half of Soonyoung’s body is out the window before Seungcheol grabs him by the back of the shirt and tugs him back down. 

“Are _you_ glad you came?” Jihoon tips his head back to ask him. The car is loud enough that Mingyu is the only one that can hear. “I seriously thought you wouldn’t have.” 

Mingyu shakes his hair out of his eyes, runs his fingers through it with his other hand. “I am, actually,” he says. “I almost cracked and had a drink or two, but I held in there.” 

Jihoon contemplates this. “And,” he says. “I never got to return the favor.” 

Yesterday, an opportunity never came. Chan and Seungcheol went to bed early, as did Mingyu and Jihoon, and there was no way Jihoon was going to risk getting Mingyu off with the two sleeping right next to them. That, and while waiting for them to go to sleep so they could sneak off to a vacant room, Jihoon and Mingyu ended up falling asleep, too. The tense minutes they had in the bathroom was their only chance at privacy. 

Mingyu’s ears turn a little red. “It’s fine,” he says. Hesitates. “We share a bedroom, anyway.” 

That’s true. And it’s not like they’re going anywhere anytime soon; they have the rest of their years in Seventeen to make it happen. 

“Right,” Jihoon says. “There’s always tomorrow.”


End file.
